In Conversation with Mamang Dai

An interview with a reputed writer from the North East India. Mamang Dai is a significant Indian English poet and novelist from Itanagar, Arunachal Pradesh. She was correspondent with the Hindustan Times , Telegraph and Sentinel newspapers and President, Arunachal Pradesh Union of Working Journalists. She also worked with World Wide Fund for nature in the Eastern Himalaya Biodiversity Hotspots programme. She has received the Verrier Elwin Award from the State government of Arunachal Pradesh (2003) and Padma Shri from the Government of India (2011). Mamang Dai’s books include: Arunachal Pradesh: The Hidden Land (non-fiction, 2003/2009); The Legends of Pensam (novel, 2006); The Sky Queen and Once Upon a Moontime (illustrated folklore for young readers, 2003); Stupid Cupid (novel, 2008); Mountain Harvest: The Food of Arunachal (non-fiction, 2004); River Poems (2004); and The Black Hill (novel, 2014); Hambreelsai’s Loom (2014): El balsamo del tiempo/The balm of time (bilingual poetry edition, 2008); Midsummer Survival Lyrics (poetry, 2014).

JS: How about the literary heritage of Arunachal Pradesh ? MD: Oral tradition. Except for the Buddhist communities the literature of the different communities of the state collectively known as the 'Tani' group is based on the belief that we are descended from a common ancestor called Abo (father) Tani (man), recorded in verse and memory. There is a body of literature that is a chanting performance recounting the history and migration of community, the birth of the universe, earth, sky and the creation of man.
JS: Did that oral tradition influence you as a writer? MD: Well, the oral tradition is a way of life that nurtured us through the centuries. All our beliefs, rituals and customary practice have come to us via the oral tradition. About literature, very briefly, the classical literature of the Adi people consists of epic narratives originally transmitted in ritual language by a Miri, the shaman well versed in the different branches of evolutionary history. Collectively this literature is called Aabang. In its simplest meaning, the Aabang is a story or an act of storytelling for an audience. There are stories of fire, flood, lost civilisations, common enough themes, but the stories come down to us with many ramifications. Each branch of the story buds into another story. Today there is a new engagement with oral traditions with research and documentation. There are many Aabangs and an Aabang can have several parts. There are also categories of Miri: those who are able to communicate with the world of spirits, and those who are pure rhapsodists.
Certainly I am influenced by the oral narratives. Knowing the stories gives me a sense of identity. It inspires my writing -after all it is a world of myth, memory, and imagination. Oral narratives are generally perceived as a simple recounting of tales for a young audience but I think their significance lies in the symbols embedded in the stories about the sanctity of life, about what makes us human. My response to myth/stories is akin to a quest. It is a world view I am still exploring.
JS: Who are the writers you read as a school girl? MD: It's okay though the term is a bit passé now. It was coined because of geography with the seven states linked together across the narrow Siliguri corridor from the rest of the country, though the term has also lumped the states together as a flat, homogenous region which is not the case. Each state is quite different from the other. It's eight, sisters/cousins, with Sikkim.
JS: Who are the promising poets (in English) from your part of the country?
MD: There are so many -writing in vernacular and English. Speaking of Arunachal, the lingua franca here was Assamese, so there are well known writers writing in Assamese, but the scenario is quite changed now with use of Hindi and English, and translations and writings in indigenous languages using the Roman script.
JS: Do you see any change in form and contents in Indian English poetry in last 40 years?
MD: Oh yes, poetry and writing is changing all the time, in style, form, content. This has to be if writing is witness to life and changing times, but at the same time I feel, especially with poetry, that at its heart poetry is changeless and changing, like the elements.
JS: You are avid lover of territorial peace and in-group fraternity. Will you please tell us your feeling and attachment with your own community?
MD: I feel attached to the land -its features, rivers, the stories and villages. I am also looking at our epic narratives and myths. I think there is a lot for me to learn. How to be patient, how to be good natured. It was a solitary journey during the period 1852-55, before the Sepoy mutiny and before the Bengal Eastern Frontier Regulation, 1873, that drew up 'protected areas' and prohibited 'British subjects 'to travel beyond this line without a permit. This is prevailing today as the Inner Line Permit (ILP) that is the official travel document required for inward travel of Indian citizens (and foreign nationals with a different Permit) into some states of Northeastern India. JS: At times, North-East people talk about the step-motherly attitude of the Central Government. It gives a new feeling on nationalism and nationality. How do you look at this? MD: There are issues relating to Centre-State, but most of the time I feel issues are raised and used and turned into political rhetoric. . Of course all this changed as the writing progressed. If there is a particular trend it must be something that seeps in without our knowing until one day, maybe in some far off place you hear rain, or see the slant of sunlight and suddenly memory stirs surprising you with such vast remembrance. Something like that.

JS: Why did you portray Mishmi people across the international border in China's Tibet in
JS: One last question: How is the poetry scenario in India now? Do you think that the literary festivals at different places have power to frame literary standard in India? Will that be good and healthy for Indian poetry in English?
MD: I don't think literary festivals can frame literary standards in India. They are occasions where people can meet and readers and writers can give and take away what is necessary or meaningful to them from such meetings. Poetry will find its own expression. Hopefully publishers will give it